How to: Silence a Timelord
by Verba-hominum
Summary: "It was a simple question, so he didn't understand why he was suddenly so flustered. All she had done was ask a small, simple question. One he had probably heard a thousand times before. " A series of one-shots that follow some of the sweeter moments between Clara and the Doctor as they travel in the Tardis.
1. How To: Silence a Timelord

**Author's Note: **

This is the first in a series of one-shots that will chronicle the Doctor and Clara's sweeter moments in the Tardis. I'm not sure exactly how many stories this series will include, but for now I'll call it at least fifteen. I hope you enjoy the story!

Happy reading!

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It was a simple question, so he didn't understand why he was suddenly so flustered. All she had done was ask a small, simple question. One he had probably heard a thousand times before. (Though, as he calculated, it was precisely seven-hundred and sixty-two times. More or less.) So why did he suddenly feel as though his tongue had swollen up in his mouth? It wasn't like him to not have anything to say. ('_I have plenty to say,'_ he thought to himself, _'I just can't speak at the moment.'_) To think, one small simple question posed by a small, simple human girl could render the Doctor speechless. (_'Not speechless,'_ he would argue with himself, _'just speech…less. Less speech but more thought. Thoughtful. There's the word. Thoughtful._) So much thought, in fact, that he could not speak.

The Doctor opened his mouth and closed it several times while Clara waited ever so patiently for a response. ('_So articulate. You have the verbal skills of a square of cheese.'_) He kept his hands busy, nervously running them through his hair, wiping a hand down his face, fidgeting with his fingers like a little boy waiting desperately for something to be over. The Doctor, the oncoming storm, the last Timelord, the savior and destroyer of worlds, brought to his knees by a simple question. (_'No, not to my knees, I'm still standing,' _he corrected, _'into a temporary state of verbal arrest. Yes, that's it. Verbal arrest.'_)

But how could she possibly possess the power to make him, ever the clever, sharp-tongued Doctor, completely incapable of processing speech? (_'Hormone rush in the brain, high amounts of epinephrine washing through the body causing the heart to race and hands to shake,'_ The Doctor observed his own shaky hands, _'the brain initiates complete shut-down of fine motor skills until the epinephrine has completely washed over the body, yes, I know, I'm clever, now say something.'_) But still, not a single word escaped his lips.

The way she was looking at him was really not helping his situation. How awfully, beautifully, terrifyingly intimidating she looked when she was smiling at him like that. How horribly, wonderfully, adorably her nose wrinkled at the bridge. Even her eyes seemed to smile with merry amusement. (_'Trick of the light, the sparkling is nothing more than the lights from the console reflecting in the fluid of the eye.'_) No doubt she was amused by the effect she has made on him.

"Doctor," she spoke once more after what seemed like hours of flustered silence. (_'Precisely twenty-two seconds,_" the Doctor smiled a little to himself as he could hear her voice in his head, _'don't be so melodramatic.'_)

"Doctor, do you dance?"

There, she had said it again. He had taken too long to reply and she had said it again. (_Well perhaps if you would stop thinking to yourself and open your clever little mouth—_')

"I don't really know," he answered as honestly as he could before he could give himself a chance to think again. "Haven't danced in a long while, last time I believe was at a wedding. My own, actually. Long story, I was engaged to the Princess of Butuuk. Completely accidental. Saw a hat, thought it was funny, turned out to be some sort of blessed marriage hat-thingy. I thought it looked more like a big floppy sunhat, but I didn't really have time to argue." (_'You're rambling again, she asked a question.'_)

"But dancing! What sort of dancing do you mean? Samba, salsa, waltz, tango, the fertility dance of the Nefertiti Tribe?" The Doctor flexed his fingers a little and licked his lips nervously. "Perhaps not the last one."

Clara looked at him with such a smile. (_'Such a bright smile, such a beautiful smile—'_) She moved to the old radio at the center console and fiddled with the buttons to find what she was looking for. (_'Sweaty palms, I don't get sweaty palms. Stop that,'_ he lectured himself as he wiped his hands over his jacket, _'stop being nervous. It's just Clara. Normal, human, perfect Clara.'_) But it was never just Clara. It was his impossible girl, his Clara Oswald.

She had found what she was looking for. He recognized it as an old tune from the 1920's. Jaunty, upbeat, with just the right mixture of ballad. A satisfactory song for her, but to the Doctor it seemed to fit her well. (_'beautiful song, beautiful Clara.'_)

"So Doctor," Clara grinned as she outstretched her hand. "Care to dance?"


	2. How to: Bake a Souffle

**Author's Note: **

Another little one-shot for the collection. I encourage you to review, comment, or critique!

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**How to: Bake a Souffle**

Of all the people the Doctor had met in all space and time, Clara Oswald was certainly unique. She was unique in the way she wrinkled her nose when she smiled. She was unique with the way her eyes smiled with her. She was unique in the way she seemed to dash in and out of his life in a blink of an eye. The way her smile lit up a room like a fire, the way she moved ever so gracefully with each step, the way her hands would glide over the railing that surrounded the console. (_'Not just glide, no, they caressed,'_ the Doctor thought to himself.)

There were thousands of ways Clara Oswald was unique. (_'Millions upon millions upon millions,' _he would think. _'The most unique woman in the Universe.'_) But perhaps what made Clara Oswald the most unique was her absolutely unwavering ability to make the Doctor smile. And what a wonderfully brilliant talent she had, making him smile. The power she held in a laugh, a grin, a wink, a touch. The power to make a sad old monster smile again after ten lifetimes of pain and suffering. The power to melt the ice that surrounded him for so long, the power to make him warm again.

One afternoon, she had made him laugh harder than he ever had before. (_'That Clara,' _he thought with a smile, _'that wonderfully wicked Clara.'_) They were, of course, running for their lives back to the Tardis. They burst through those great blue doors with such force that the two of them had to stumble about to close them. And how they looked like a mess. (_'Like a hurricane had blown through, as she had said.'_) Still, she was his Clara. His Clara, who collapsed onto the floor in a heap of adrenaline-fueled giggles and tousled brown hair. His Clara, who promptly sat up after a near death experience and asked the most brilliantly simple question.

(_"Do you have a kitchen?" Her curious eyes bore into him, so deep and dark yet so absolutely perfect_)

Of course, the Doctor just had to say yes. (_'At one time there were seven,' he had said to her, 'but now there's just a mere two.'_) And how her eyes had lit up. (_'Fireworks on the fourth of July, the two suns of Wa'a Moi, Gatsby's green light, they have nothing on her eyes—'_) The simple touch of her hand on his had made him smile. So smooth was her skin, and so nervous was he. How nervous she always made him when she touched him. But what a perfect nervousness it was.

(_"Near death experiences always make me want to cook," she said as she pulled him with her toward the kitchen. Her grin was so playful and so bright as she turned to him. "There's no way I'm going to die without making the perfect soufflé first, and you're going to help me."_)

Admittedly, the Doctor had no idea how to cook a soufflé. He had never needed to learn. (_'Though I can cook cakes that would make even the great bakers of Zepitotip jealous,' _he thought with a grin.) He had watched her collect their ingredients and materials. (_'Watched her hands,' _he admitted, _'not the ingredients, just her hands.'_)

(_"The soufflé isn't the soufflé, it's the recipe. I memorized my mother's recipe years ago," she had said with a mixing bowl in hand._)

As they cooked, the Doctor and Clara laughed. They laughed when the Doctor spilled flour on himself, (_'Accidentally—'_) and when he spilled flour on her (_'Not so accidentally.'_) The Doctor relished the sound of her laughter when she flicked flour into his face and into his hair. The feeling of her fingers running over his scalp as she tried to ruffle the flour back out.

(_"Maybe if you didn't have so much hair, this would be easier," she laughed and shook her head. The Doctor merely laughed with her and shook his head like a dog, allowing the flour to fly from his hair in a cloud of white._)

And oh how he adored her sass. That wickedly sharp tongue of hers, that silver-edged verbal sword. How he loved her clever lines and sharp-witted humor. (_'Clever, clever girl,' _he thought affectionately.) The playfulness in her voice as she grabbed the Doctor's hands and danced with him, the two completely covered in flour and egg. (_'Never try cracking an egg on the top of your head,' _he laughed at himself, _'but at least it makes wonderful conditioner.'_)

They danced, they laughed, they played.

(_Clara stuck her tongue out at the Doctor as he twirled her around. The Doctor caught her and spun her back out._

"_You had better keep that tongue in your mouth, Clara Oswald, or I might bite it." Oh how she had laughed._)

The wonderful mess they were, they were far too busy laughing to realize their soufflé had burned.


	3. How to: Heal a Wound

**Author's Note:**

Hello my lovelies! I apologize for not updating yesterday on any of my stories (whether it be this one or The Adventure Worthwhile) but for some reason was not working for me yesterday. I don't know whether it was a wide spread thing, but I couldn't update. I also had my brother's high-school graduation today, so I really only had the time to update this today and not both stories.

This story in particular is a bit feels-y so I really hope you like it. (At least I felt feels, but I always feel feels for the Doctor and Clara.)

Happy reading!

**Edit: **Sorry about the typo, I fixed it!

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**How to: Heal a Wound**

She had never met a man quite like him before. Clara would never meet another being quite like the Doctor if she hunted for him the rest of her life. The Doctor was different. The Doctor, with his quirky dress and rambling brilliance. The Doctor, with eyes as old as stars and a smile so young. So happy, and so very sad. So very, very sad. She could see it sometimes, that secret sadness behind his eyes. But she never once questioned it, never once bothered him about it.

Instead, Clara made him smile. Oh, how she loved to see that brilliant man smile. The way he would turn on his heel with his jacket flying out behind him and that ever bright smile gracing his face. How he danced about with the giddiness of a child, how he (_'Marvelously, wonderfully—'_) took Clara's hands and twirled her around in absolute joy. When he smiled, the Doctor was young. So impossibly young for a man of his age. And the Doctor was happy. (_'How he deserves to be happy,' _she thought to herself, _'how he deserves all the happiness in the Universe.'_)

And what happiness she gave him. (_'An impossible happiness, he would think, but never say._') Clara gave him the most perfect, impossible happiness. She knew the Doctor watched her. (_'When he thinks I'm not looking,'_ Clara would smile to herself) She knew when he watched her, he smiled. His eyes would follow her hand when she tucked her hair behind her ear, the movements of her fingers as she sewed a tear in his favorite shirt (_'Quite terribly,' _she would quickly add.)

Sometimes, Clara would turn on her heel and catch the Doctor watching her. (_'And he would always deny it,'_ she would laugh.)

(_"I see you watching me," Clara said one afternoon as she sewed a tear in her favorite shirt. For the life of her, she couldn't remember where the tear had come from. _

_The Doctor, who had been watching the movement of her fingers, did not lift his eyes._

"_No I wasn't," he said quickly. Clara couldn't help but laugh, for his eyes were still locked on her fingers as he denied it. The Doctor must have noticed as well, for he lifted his eyes and gave her a cheeky grin. "I thought I saw a Modimite on your hand."_

"_That sounds made up," Clara smirked as she went back to sewing._

"_No really, Modimites are tiny little creatures that look a bit like tadpoles; they sometimes rest on the backs of hands. I don't know why, I think it might have something to do with the movement, but they're very real." As the Doctor sat beside her, his eyes strayed to her hands again. He was worried she would prick herself._

"_Are you lying to me?" Clara asked as she flicked her eyes up to look at the Doctor. He paused for a moment before he gave her the widest grin. How childish he looked. _

"_Yes."_)

But the thing about the Doctor was he always cared about Clara. Sometimes Clara thought the Doctor worried himself too much. On bad days, the Doctor would look at Clara with such a worried forlorn look, as though he feared she might suddenly vanish in a puff of smoke. Sometimes he would graze her arm with his hand or hold her face, just to assure himself that she was still there.

And sometimes, on extremely bad days, the Doctor would embrace her without a single word. There was something so utterly heart-wrenching about those embraces. They pulled at her heart strings and sometimes, while he could not see her face, she would allow herself to cry. She would cry, but she would not cry for her. She would cry for him. She cried for him because she knew he would never cry for himself.

(_It was strange of him to come on a Friday. She had heard a tapping against her window; she figured he had been throwing stones. But when she looked out into the night, she saw nothing but the big blue box sitting in the street. The Tardis on a Friday, Clara knew something had to be wrong._

_And she was right. She had hardly knocked on the Tardis doors before she was pulled inside into a tight embrace. The Doctor spoke no words, but he was shaking. She could feel his hearts hammering in his chest as though he had been running. Belatedly, Clara wrapped her arms around him and rubbed his back, soothing him the best she could. He was afraid. She did not know what he had seen or where he had been, but whatever it was scared him. Scared him back to her._

"_Never leave, Clara," was all the Doctor would say to her for what would turn into hours. "Never leave me alone."_

_With her face hidden in his shoulder, Clara would let a tear slip down her cheek._

"_I won't," she whispered, "I promise."_)

For the Doctor and Clara, time always went on. Good days sometimes turned bad, bad days sometimes turned into the best days. But she would always be by his side.

(_Sometimes, Clara would prick her finger on her needle. She would curse and sigh, but the Doctor would only shake his head at her._

"_I know what's going on in that head of yours, and don't you dare say 'I told you so,'" Clara huffed as he pressed a small kiss to the wounded finger. He pulled a bandage from his jacket pocket; he had been expecting this._

"_Wouldn't dream of it," the Doctor laughed as he carefully peeled off the bandage's backing. He applied it to her finger before he held his hands up with a grin. "All better!"_

_Clara moved her finger to prove she was just fine. With her clever smile on her lips, she looked up at the Doctor. _

"_No wonder you call yourself the Doctor. Are you always going to fix my cuts and bruises?"_

_The Doctor smiled and placed a hand on the back of her neck, steadying her so he could kiss her forehead. For the Doctor knew he could always heal the pricks in her finger, but it was she who could heal the wounds time could not erase._)


	4. How to: Survive the Worst

**Author's Note:**

Thank you so much for your feedback everyone, I really appreciate the reviews! Please please continue, I absolutely love to read what you think of the stories.

Just an update on my updating, I recently took on another job so I may not be able to update every day like I have been. I will keep updating very regularly, just perhaps not every day. I did appreciate the concerned messages I received from some of my readers, but unless it's been a few weeks since I've updated I promise I'm still okay.

Thank you guys and happy reading!

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**How To: Survive the Worst**

Traveling with the Doctor was a dangerous game to play. It was a game of liars and cheaters, of perilous consequences and very little rules. But oh, how Clara loved to play that game. She loved to run with him, to hide and plan and cleverly save world after world. She loved to watch his eyes light up when the final piece of the puzzle clicked. She loved to watch his smile (_'that beautiful broad smile—'_) spread across his face. His smile, the one that could warm a freezing room or send the most delightful shivers down Clara's spine. She lived for that smile. She played this dangerous game just so she could follow that smile.

But sometimes they lost that dangerous game. Sometimes the days were dark and the Tardis quiet. Those dark days were the ones that broke Clara's heart the most. The days where the Doctor didn't smile. (_'On the days where he was the loneliest creature in all space and time,' _Clara would think with a frown. _'The days that break him.'_)

(_He had been silent for hours. The Doctor sat on the floor of the Tardis, his legs hanging off the side with the doors open. Below him, a great ball of fire was burning; a planet turning to ash. The Doctor had been watching it for near three hours, just sitting there with a blank expression as the planet smoldered beneath him. _

_Clara had sat beside him a while ago, but she doubted he noticed her there. He just stared at the inferno with wet eyes and his jaw locked. Twice Clara looked over at him and leaned forward just a little, just to see his eyes. How sad they seemed, and how lonely. _

"_The last time I was here I was in the Garden of Words. The trees actually communicate; they could speak to you and tell you the most amazing stories. Incredibly old stories, so much older than the earth. Older than so many earths. And the fragrance they gave off, the most incredible thing, the air always smelled like your favorite scent. The last time I was here it smelled vaguely of mint and jelly babies," the Doctor spoke with a sad affection. He did not smile at the memory, but instead pursed his lips as he tried to will the tears that were steadily slipping down his cheeks away. "They're all gone now. The garden, the trees, the air…all gone." _

_Clara could not bear the sadness in his eyes. She smoothed a hand through his hair before she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. The Doctor made no moves at first, but eventually he lowered his head to bury his nose in the crook of her neck. The warmth there and her closeness comforted him._

"_A wise man once told me nothing is ever truly gone," Clara whispered as she ran her fingers through his hair, "but everything has an end."_

_The Doctor moved to wrap one arm around her, fingers splayed at the base of her neck. He held her close just to keep her with him. _

"_Not everything," the Doctor cried quietly into her shoulder. "Not always."_)


	5. How to: Forgive

**Author's Note:**

Just a quick thank you to everyone that has posted a review (and everyone who has read the stories, for that matter!) I thank you for your kind words and dedication to the stories, it means a lot to me. As someone going through a difficult time right now, your lovely words make me feel so very wonderful. Thank you guys, from the bottom of my heart.

I'm so glad you are all continuing to read, and I hope you enjoy this story and all the ones to come. (And I do have some fluffy, sort of goofy stories in mind as well, so these stories will be very diverse with feels.)

From the bottom of my heart thank you, and happy reading!

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**How To: Forgive**

Once upon a time, there was a man. He was a terrible man and a good man, a god and a monster. He was a man of time and a man lost in time; what a perfect contradiction was he. He was a perfect, wonderful, awful contradiction. Nameless, he held a thousand titles in a million million languages. Wordless, his voice thundered and echoed through the universe. The most terrible hero, the most beautiful villain. Surrounded with friends, he was lonely. With a smile on his face, he was sad. He held archaic eyes with a child's grin. Finite and infinite, selfish and selfless. A man of a thousand contradictions.

(_Sometimes he could hear echoes of their voices off the Tardis walls. All of those he had ever traveled with, all the people he had loved and lost, all of them echoes imprinted in his hearts. Sometimes he felt he was losing whatever was left of his mind._)

This man, this madman lost in time, one day met a woman. A magnificently clever, terribly curious woman. To the man, she was something completely new and he was quickly captivated with her. What a woman she was; what a vivacious, brilliant young woman she was. He was enthralled with her; the power she held in her smile, the warmth she held in her eyes. This woman, so simple yet so complex, baffled the man lost in time in the loveliest way.

(_She flashed into his life like a bolt of lightning. Intense and bright, like suddenly the heavens had opened up and dropped her on the earth. For the briefest of moments he thought she was lightning, for the warmth she brought with her smile was simply not like anything he had ever encountered. For the first time in a long time, the man lost in time began to feel warmth again._)

But he lost her. The madman, the sad man, lost that marvelous woman. Not just once, but twice he met her and she slipped from his grasp. He tried to save her; he tried so very hard to keep her safe. But each time she fell. The man began to unravel. He had lost so many, too many. His hearts hardened, his eyes blackened, and he swore he would tear time apart to find her again. He would find this impossible woman again and keep her safe.

(_Because he needed her more than anything else in the universe. He needed that wonderful, impossible woman. He needed to know what she was._)

Perhaps it was fated that she was planted in his life, for quite by accident he stumbled upon her again. The madman lost in time had found his impossible girl once more. And how his hearts did soar when he did, for she was alive. She was breathing and alive and so human. From the moment he saw her face again, he promised to keep her safe at all costs. She was his impossible girl, his precious puzzle, his perfect riddle.

(_But one afternoon as he was watching her nurse a large gash on her hand, be began to understand. When she caught him looking at her she smiled and told him the cut wasn't that bad. The sad man only smiled at her. Quietly, he took her hand and kissed the bandage on her palm before lifting his head to kiss her forehead. She smiled and laughed, even poked fun at his melodramatic look of worry, but he did not smile. He understood. But he didn't want to._)

His impossible girl always waited for him to come on Wednesdays, but one Wednesday he didn't come. She waited at the window for him, watching the street with hopeful eyes. But the minutes turned to hours, the hours bled into days, and the days into weeks. Still, she waited diligently every Wednesday at the window, waiting for her man lost in time. But he did not come, not for months. The spring turned to summer, summer turned into fall. Finally, at the first snow of winter, he returned.

(_She had been furious with him. When he appeared on the front lawn, she stormed out of the house and threw open the Tardis doors. There he stood with his arms by his side, waiting for her as though not a moment had passed since they had last seen one another. He spoke not a word as she stormed up to him and yelled angrily. He made not a motion as she pounded her fists against his chest in protest of the months she had missed with him. He stood like stone and watched her with a sad look of understanding. _

_He would not move until she began to cry. When the tears welled over and spilled down her cheeks, he wrapped his arms around her tighter than he ever had before. He held one hand at the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist with an iron lock. The anger, the absolute fury that had washed over his impossible girl slowly began to melt away into a more terrifying emotion. Sadness._

"_Why?" She cried into his shoulder. It was the only thing she could seem to say. "Why?"_

_He took a while to speak, for he too could feel a threatening lump in his throat. He swallowed before finally he responded._

"_Because I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to you. It's dangerous with me and I'm not sure if I can stand losing you. I have almost lost you so many times. What happens the next time, if you go where I can't follow? If I have to stand at your grave or bury your body? What if something bad happens to you?"_

_He went silent after that, staying very quiet as he buried his face in her shoulder. Slowly, she began to soften as she understood. The impossible girl moved her hands to his face; her fingers were cool against his skin. _

"_If you leave me like that again, something bad will happen. I would lose you. And losing you is the one thing I could never do." She moved her thumb over his cheek to carefully wipe a tear away. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything. I chose to go with you, and I still choose to go with you. You need to forgive yourself." _

_When he looked into her eyes, he could see absolute truth. Perhaps not right away, perhaps it would take a long time, but as she leaned forward to place her lips on his, he thought perhaps one day, with her help, he could try. _

_He could try to forgive._)


	6. How to: Act Upon Impulse

**Author's** **Notes: **

Just a quick note today, I just want to thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy the story and as promised, it's a little sweeter this time.

Happy reading!

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**How To: Act Upon Impulse**

Clara Oswald was a mystery wrapped in a riddle and dipped in a secret. She was something simple and something so complex, something unique and something the same. The woman that echoed through time, a woman who died a thousand deaths. And yet, she was so alive. Clara Oswald was so alive. So witty, so clever, so alive. She was the Doctor's favorite mystery.

(_He stayed with her one night. She had been plagued with horrible nightmares, the result of a small life form whose name Clara could not pronounce. The Doctor promised it was harmless, but it liked to cause trouble by giving bad dreams._

"_It only comes when you're sleeping," the Doctor had explained as he sat in a chair beside her bed, "They like to stir up a little trouble. They're like children, you see, and they get bored just as children do. So what do you do when you're bored? You cause trouble. It's a perfectly harmless little thing, so not to worry. When you're asleep, it'll be easier to talk to. You won't have any nightmares and voila, problem solved!" The Doctor beamed at her as she rolled her eyes at her._

"_I can't sleep with you watching me, it's too weird." Clara pointed out as she sat up in bed. The Doctor laughed and placed one hand on the side of her neck, looking at her with a grin._

"_Clara, do you have stage fright?" The Doctor asked before he kissed her forehead. "Fair enough. I can wait in the hallway until you're asleep. Is that better?"_

"_It doesn't matter," Clara sighed. "Either way it's all sorts of wrong."_

_The Doctor and Clara were quiet for a while. Eventually Clara began to fall asleep, and the Doctor watched her with the diligent silence of a guard dog. As he watched her, he thought. He thought of all the mysteries that surrounded this one woman, this one normal woman. _

"_One of these days, Clara Oswald, I'm going to figure out just who you are," the Doctor murmured quietly as he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead._)

But somewhere, she had become more than that. Her smile became more than a smile and her voice was no longer just a voice, it was a song. The hands that the Doctor once took for granted held his spirits up, even if she did not notice. He took great comfort in her face and warmth in her smile. Somewhere along the line, the Doctor began to smile as he watched her, and he felt like dancing again. Still, she was a mystery. But the mystery began to blur, and soon he wasn't sure of which mystery he was trying to figure out. The mystery of the impossible woman or the mystery of Clara Oswald?

(_"You're not bad, chin boy," Clara laughed as the Doctor dipped her low to the ground. They had been dancing for what felt like only seconds, but the internal clock on the Tardis noted that it was closer to two hours._

"_I have the best dance partner!" The Doctor exclaimed as he pulled her back up to him. With her pressed to his chest, the Doctor gave her a cheeky grin and kissed the tip of her nose. Before Clara could retaliate, he had spun her back out with a laugh. _

"_Did you just give me a compliment?" Clara asked with a playful smirk. "Or are you complimenting yourself?"_

_The Doctor let go of her hands and spun on his heels with the wildest grin he could manage._

_Clara only laughed and shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. "Show off."_)

Sometimes she scared the Doctor. In his thousand years, he had never quite met someone that confused him as much as she did. Everything she did was a puzzle; everything she said was laden with riddles he could not figure out. Her delicate hands, the tip of her nose, the curve of her grin, they baffled the Doctor in a way he had never known before. What was she, who was she, and how did she hold such power in the tips of her fingers? She sent electricity though his blood at the simplest touch, she sent his mind reeling with a passing glance.

(_Soon the song began to change. The jaunty tune began to slow into the most wonderful ballad. Quietly, the Doctor thanked the Tardis. With a smile on his lips, he took Clara's hands to pull her closer before he placed his hands on her waist, swaying with her slowly._

"_Are you trying to impress me?" Clara asked as she looked up at him with a grin. The Doctor laughed quietly, his eyes never leaving hers._

"_Why, do I impress you?"_

"_Don't let it go to your head, chin boy." She chided playfully. She rested her arms over his shoulders, though it was a bit of a reach for her. He was at least a head taller than she was. "You impress me all the time. All the things we see, all the adventures and all the people we meet. I'm always impressed. Do I ever impress you, Doctor?"_

_The Doctor's lips widened into a silly, lopsided grin. "Clara Oswald, you never cease to impress me."_

"_You're lying."_

"_Just a little."_

_Clara shook her head and laughed. The sound of her laughter made the Doctor feel strangely light, and he couldn't help but laugh as well._

"_I'm a little disappointed," Clara hummed with a grin, "that I don't impress you."_

_When Clara looked up at the Doctor, he felt as though something within him had snapped. Or perhaps it was the opposite and it whirled to life. He couldn't tell, all he could tell was there was a pit in his stomach and it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground. His hearts felt light, so light that he feared for a second he was going to fly away. And then there was that electricity that shocked his system and coursed through his blood. Perhaps that's why he did it. Perhaps it was the electricity that pulled at him. Maybe it was just impulse. Either way, before he could think, he was suddenly moving._

_The Doctor placed his hands on her face with earnest, as though he needed to tell her something that absolutely needed to be said. But instead of speaking, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. There was a certain urgency in his kiss, but for a kiss so firm he was very gentle, as though he were afraid to break her. Before Clara could process the situation, he had broken the kiss and placed his forehead on hers, his eyes closed._

"_Clara Oswald," he murmured quietly as her fingers ran over his neck and into his hair, "You always impress me. Always."_)


	7. How to: Partake in Banter

**Author's Note:**

A taste of something a little different today. Thank you so much for all of your positive feedback and I hope it continues. Your words mean a lot to me!

As always, I hope you enjoy and happy reading!

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**How To: Partake in Banter**

There are three simple steps to partaking in banter.

Step One: Make an observation.

(_"Just how many bow-ties do you own exactly?" Clara asked the Doctor one morning as she watched him rummaging through the sprawling room he called a closet. Clothes of all sorts lined the walls and reached stories high, and briefly Clara wondered just how far up his closet went. From a horrendously frilly frock that looked like it had come straight from one of Shakespeare's plays to what appeared to be a polka-dotted bikini (the Doctor, of course, avidly denied it was his,) the closet seemed to house any sort of clothing a person, or Timelord, could possibly desire. _

"_Oh I don't know, two hundred? Maybe six? Give or take." The Doctor said as he compared two bow ties, one bright orange and the other decorated in what appeared to be small dancing bears. He wrinkled his nose before he tossed them into his pile of rejections._

"_Give or take?" Clara laughed as she picked up one of his rejections; a bow-tie with Abraham Lincoln's face printed into the fabric. "Give or take a few hundred?"_

"_Yes," the Doctor paused his search for a moment to give her a goofy grin, tossing another bow-tie at her. "Give or take." _

_Clara caught the bow-tie before she tossed it back at him with her lips quirked into a smile. "How did you even get this many? Where do they all come from?"_

_The Doctor held a purple bow-tie up to his neck before he discarded that one as well. "Oh you know, around. All over the place really, some of them I just happened across and thought to myself 'what the hell, why not!' They're cool, bow ties. I always had a fondness for them." _

_Clara draped her arms over the back of one of the several chairs in the closet._

"_So you collect them, then?"_

"_I collect many things, Clara." The Doctor laughed as he playfully tossed a handful of rejected bow-ties in her direction. Clara chuckled and grasped one of the bow-ties as it tangled on her fingers. With a little bit of a struggle, she managed to put it on._

"_How about me then, did you collect me?" She joked. The Doctor, who had finally decided on a deep navy bow-tie, grinned up at her for a moment before he straightened her bow-tie for her and kissed her forehead._

"_Yes."_)

Step Two: Jest lightly.

(_She had this funny habit of singing when she was happy. On a good day, when the music was playing and they were smiling, her voice would suddenly burst through the Tardis in an off-key melody. Half the time, she didn't realize she was singing. But she could always count on the Doctor to call her out._

_As Clara belted out a tuneless melody, the Doctor crept up behind her. Just when he was close enough, he squeezed her sides. With a yelp and a jump of surprise, Clara turned to face him._

"_And what was that for?" She asked as she lightly smacked his arm. The Doctor laughed even so and held his hands up in defense. _

"_You were signing again! And you're so easily spooked when you're singing."_

"_I wasn't singing," Clara defended, her eyes flicking over the Doctor's ridiculous grin. _

"_You were."_

"_I wasn't," Clara huffed in vain. But even with her best attempt, she couldn't keep a scowl on her face when he smiled at her like that. He looked like a big three year old._

"_You sing all the time too, you know," Clara pointed out with a smirk. "What was it you were singing the other day, 'Home on the Range?'?"_

"_Yes, but I'm not tone deaf," the Doctor held his hands up again as though he expected another smack. Instead, Clara laughed._

"_Oh you think so? You sound like a walrus trying to sing happy birthday." Clara laughed as she imitated what she believed to be what a walrus singing would sound like. Her voice was as low as she could make it and she sang with her lips loose to make the song blubbery and bizarre. Twice her voice cracked. The Doctor and Clara laughed, even to the point of tears. _

"_We should sing a duet!" The Doctor chuckled as he placed one hand on his chest as though he were a dramatic singer in an opera. He sang along with Clara in the strangest voice he could muster until the two simply couldn't keep their composure and collapsed with giggles._

_As they wiped the tears from their eyes, the two simply lay on the floor to collect themselves._

"_We make a good team, you and I." Clara mused breathlessly, her smile still hinted at her lips. _

_The Doctor smiled and reached for her, curling his fingers around her hand. _

"_That we do, Clara Oswald," he breathed. "That we do."_)

Step Three: Have fun with it.

(_Most of all, Clara was fun. When the Doctor made a joke, she would laugh. When there was tension in the room, she would be the first to speak up with a witty remark. She brightened his days and filled them with laughter. Perhaps that's what he liked about her the most._

"_Oi chin boy," Clara spoke with a grin when she noticed him watching her. "Take a picture, it lasts longer."_

_The Doctor only smiled at her warmly before ruffling her hair. One day, he would do exactly what she had said. He would take her picture and preserve her in time. Preserve their laughter._

_Because most of all, Clara was fun._)


	8. How to: Miss

**Author's Note:**

Hello lovelies. I just wanted to update you on what's going on right now, especially since I haven't updated in a week after constant updates for three weeks. I'm going through a little personal business right now, and it's been really tough. My mum recently lost her job so I've had to pick up more hours, so by the time I get home from work I'm absolutely drained. That's not an excuse, and I promise I'll be trying harder to get you the updates. In regards to my other story, the Adventure Worthwhile, I'm afraid that has to be put on hold until I get these matters sorted. I wish it wasn't so, but this sort of hit me like a truck.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, it's short but it's sweet 3

As always, happy reading!

* * *

**How To: Miss**

Most of the time he would just skip to any Wednesday in her timeline he wanted to. He never liked to be without his Clara for very long. But there were days she couldn't; days she was sick or tired or busy. Those were the quiet days in the Tardis. They were the days the Doctor dreaded. The quiet days in the Tardis.

(_It was almost Christmas time when the Tardis appeared in the middle of the street; the bluest blue visible from a mile away in the stark white landscape. The Doctor, donned with a tropical straw hat, a ring of flowers around his neck, and a brittle looking grass shirt, knocked on the Maitland's door. But the person who answered was not Clara. It was not Clara's bright smile that greeted him. Instead, it was Angie's pestered scowl, as though the Doctor had interrupted her._

"_She's not here," Angie said boringly, "She's gone to visit friends up north for the holidays."_

"_She didn't tell me she was going to visit friends," the Doctor huffed much like a child. Angie rolled her eyes._

"_She told you last week. She said 'I'm going to visit friends up north.' Weren't you listening?" Angie quirked an eyebrow, scanning his attire for the first time. "….what are you wearing? You look ridiculous."_

_The Doctor looked offended. "It's a grass skirt, there's nothing wrong with a grass skirt. I wear a grass skirt now."_

"_It looks ridiculous." Angie repeated._)

He would never tell her of the times he spent alone in the Tardis. They were not moments he was proud of. Quiet, self-loathing, full of missing. Missing his family, his friends, missing Clara though she wasn't really gone. He feared that one day she would be. He knew one day she would be. And he knew it would be all his fault. His Clara, his world, the girl who saved him a thousand times, would eventually be gone.

(_The good thing about being a time traveler is you can watch a planet burn one minute, then be standing on its surface the next. And that was exactly what the Doctor decided to do. There had always been something about the Garden of Words that he had liked. It was peaceful, relaxed. He lay in the garden surrounded by a vivid array of prismacolor pinks and blues; of oranges and reds and yellows and violets. A million colors in a million patterns in a million flowers. Closing his eyes, he could hear the sound of the trees whispering, singing sweet lullabies and sad songs of loneliness. _

_As he inhaled, the corner of the Doctor's lips turned up. He knew exactly what he'd say to Clara right now. 'Take a deep breath, tell me what you smell. It's familiar, isn't it? Memory scan. There are billions of billions of neuro-receptors focused in the plants, and the moment you touched them, they began to scan you. They scan for your favorite color, your favorite scent, your favorite taste, memory, anything that could possibly be useful to them. It's an adaptation only ever achieved by the plants of this garden. They use those memories, the things most important to you, and they change the way you see, think, smell, taste….everything, so you will be attracted to them. It aids their pollination. Brilliant, isn't it? Memory scanning plants. Beautiful.' _

_But Clara was not there. He could not see her wide-eyed fascination or the smile on her cherry-red lips. When he reached over for her hand, he found nothing but a fistful of satin daisies. He brushed his fingertips over the velvety petals and, like a flash of lightning, he briefly wished it were her skin instead. But she was not there. _

_As the Doctor inhaled, he could smell the scent most important to him. Floral, mysterious, with just the slightest hint of cinnamon. The Garden of Words always smelled like Clara._)


End file.
